EXERCISE Different Perspectives #3 - Shoes

Discussion in 'REFINING WRITING' started by Cammybatty, Dec 29, 2013.

  1. They come in all different shapes and sizes, some are bought for specific uses, they are often loved and hated equally, and we often own more than we need.


    We put our shoes through lots of use and abuse, but do we ever think about how the shoes feel? For this challenge, you need to write from the vantage point of a pair of shoes. Bonus internet points the more inventive your situation! What do things look like from all the way down there?
  2. Day to day

    Diary of an American Shoe.

    Day 1
    I have finally been purchased! Free from that cursed box in that freezing building at last! I have a home! My new owner seems nice. She is most definitely a professional, as she was well dressed. I overheard from her talk that she is what humans call a 'Daddy's little girl'. I have yet to discover what this title means, but I'm sure it is of little importance. My twin brother and I are very glad, but he is a moron and often glad. We currently remain in our box, but I am sure she will grant us our freedom of it soon.

    Day 2
    Today was wonderful! Our new owner took us out of the box, and wore us all day today! I am quite tired from all the walking she did during her 'shopping' enterprises, but I am certain she is pleased with our performance. We have also learned our owner's name is Jessie. Jessie has many nice friends, who complimented how cute we look all afternoon. I am tired, and may not have as much time to update this, from what I heard from Jessie.

    Day 5
    The world is a wonderful place to looks at. Grass towering just above my eyes, hundreds of other shoes being worn by their masters, dangerous, smelly obstacles at every turn! Such thrill! I don't like Jessie's canine companion, however. It is loud and keeps eyeing me hungrily. I doubt Jessie will let it harm me, though. She is quite fond of us. Also, I saw up her skirt today. I do not understand what all the fuss the human males make about it is. I will ignore it, as it is obviously not relevant to me.

    Day 7
    The first week has gone well, and Jessie treats us kindly, freaking out every time we get dirty and cleans us vigorously. We have a happy life with her, thus far. OF all the people who could have purchased us, I am glad it was Jessie.

    Day 16
    We are being worn more and more often, every day now. We are exhausted. But, we are still in high hopes. My brother keeps coming undone, hopefully Jessie will notice and fix his problem. I am tired. Will write again as I can.

    Day 38
    The conditions are becoming brutal now, with very little rest in between each day of continuous use. My brother and I were not made for this sort of heavy use. We're made for fashion, not constant labor! Doesn't she realize we have soles, too? We have tongues, why cannot we voice our troubles? We are wearing thin. We must see a cobbler soon!

    Day 126
    Despair. We are running out of use now. I lost one of my gems today, and my brother has a hole in him. The color is fading from both of us fast. I'm not sure how much longer Jessie will keep us around. She has transferred us to her closet now, a place filled with old shoes like us. It is dark, and cramped, and she only opens the door a few moments each day. Our only chance now is to hope she does not remember us, and throw us into the garbage. I have heard tales of the others, about old, worn shoes like us being whisked away towards the place called 'trash' and never heard from again. A terrifying thought. Even my usually happy brother was down today. I fear this is the end of us.

    Day 143- Final entry
    It happened. The horrid tales of the trash has happened to us. We now sit is a large bin, under layers of rotting food and their containers. I am filled with some type of oriental noodles. Disgusting. It seems this is the end. From what I heard, our next fate will be to rot in a Garbage Dump, along with many other discarded items, and then incinerated if fortune prevails. My brother has already passed on, no longer able to fight. I have had a good life, though, and served my purpose well.. Alas, this is where it ends. Goodbye, cruel world. Perhaps we will meet again in another life.
  3. The factory is a womb, and I just one ovum among many. We are one, my sisters and I. All in the same length of material, not so much side by side as tangled within each other.

    my mother is the die-cutter. With a twist of her metal-bladed hands I am freed from my sisters, solo for the first time, going down the line at an unstoppable pace behind thousands of my kin.

    my father is the sewing machine
    he pokes me, pierces me
    he makes me whole
    his touch is cold like death, but brings to me more life

    I am whole, made of my father and my mother, identical to my sisters around me, yet unique. I have a soul.
    there is a conveyor belt
    it plays the role of midwife
    I do not wish to go
    I do not wish to leave
    the world beyond my womb is frightening
    I am born into a box, into an egg, waiting to hatch, waiting to fledge.

    Here in this box, I am whole.
    Eyeless, I cannot see.
    Earless, I cannot hear.
    Noseless, I cannot smell.
    I am tongued, but I cannot taste.
    I have no heart, but I have a mind.
    I have no mouth but I must speak.

    My birth certificate is a receipt
    whirr, the machine says
    welcome to life

    Later that same day I fell in love with the majesty of motion.

    I can fly, but only for a few footlengths at a time.
    I am a shield, a protector, a supporter, a loyal confidant
    I am invaluable

    The foot is my purpose, my god
    who would have known so many things existed, were it not for feet?
    They take me, they take us, everywhere.
    The cool whispers of freshly mowed grass
    The slap of running on pavement
    The creak of old wood floors
    The stickiness of spilled soda on restaurant floors

    The foot is my god, and my god plays Eros
    he jokes about golden arrows as he summons a sock
    and thrusts it into me, rudely sometimes,
    sometimes gently.
    I am the lover of a dozen, a hundred, a thousand socks
    I love them all, even though they care not for me.

    I love the foot, but the foot had gotten big
    I was filled, now I am stretched
    I had never realized my god was so young
    I had never heard of growth

    The socks, they know
    they have seen others like me come and go.
    They do not love me because they know my time is short
    they are my lovers, but I love them not
    because they have told me an awful lie.

    Feet, they say, are everywhere.
    My foot is not unique.
    My foot is not special.
    My foot is just one foot on just one boy, just one of many billion.
    I do not know most of those words
    I do not understand most of those concepts
    but i know them to be lies.
    My foot is my god
    Of course my foot is unique
    Of course my foot is best.

    I am in a box
    Not a womb, but a coffin
    my god had abandoned me and buried me.
    I have no tears but I must cry.

    My box is open
    I am beside others like me
    but unlike me
    It is a store, they say
    a store for the nonreligious
    looking for a new deity
    to take them home

    My old lovers never lied
    and now I wish I had loved them
    for my world is complete
    with a new foot, a new god,
    better than before
    for he is done with that terrible thing
    sometimes called growing
    and I am my foot's
    and he is mine

    Through parks and stores and offices
    Through gravel, dirt, and mud
    Through rain and snow and sand
    Until I am an old soul
    and an old sole
    and ready to say goodbye
    to the worship of feet
    and ascend to the heavens
    in the trash can
    in the dumpster
    in the truck
    in a hole
    in the ground
    where I may sleep.